


Interlude

by novasreverie



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 15:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novasreverie/pseuds/novasreverie
Summary: Crow is a complicated person and the author would kill for a Falk/Adam love triangle. Why? simple. i live for the dramà. Note: This isn't finished and it kind of cuts off abuptly at the end. I've been meaning to go back and finish it, but I am a troubled writer plagued by many things such as 'how does one write smut' and 'i wrote this in a haze at 3am after work and almost immediately after b3's demo (i think?? god i think it was b3's demo i am a messy person who can't keep track of anything i am simply enamored w falk and adam and all brain functions stop there) so maybe it doesn't make sense. I will own that. I WANT to finish it, so this is kind of a trial run to see if it is coherent and good enough to deserve being finished. Help me obi wan ao3 readers you're my only hope. ANYWAY. I have adhd sorry. What was this again?
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Detective/Falk (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Nonbinary Detective/Adam du Mortain
Kudos: 2





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> So a little background: this is kind of an au of my personal detective that lives in my head 100% of tht time. BASICALLY the idea is that my detective ends up frustrated by adam blue balling them on a constant basis like. imagine if that 'loving me is work' 'not to me' quote or whatever was basically adam: loving me is awful work crow: yes it is and i am doing it but i am also going through it. I like pain and angst sue me. OK SO. Crow is like tommy wiseau voice you are tearing me APART adam and adam is like i have never had an emotion in my life but he is blinking iw ould die for you i love you so much in morse code at the same time, but crow doesn't understand morse code. so. crow is like adam i am not waiting for you i am not buttercup this is not the princess bride i want to get nailed. (crow is very much just a self insert and they have a lot of my personality and bad habits, like being emotionally repressed and blue screening when shown genuine care) SO falk slides into their dms like hey baby he wont treat you like i will. this makes sense right. anyway. please help me decide whether or not my 3am fever dream is worth continuing thank you mic drop. I am going to TRY and get everything formatted how it's supposed to be ie: italics where they were in the google doc but frankly i wrote around 2500 words and if i fuck up in fuck up. that's one me baby. you ready????? also i FUCKING FOUND THE QUOTE THE ANNE CARSON QUOTE 
> 
> “Pylades: I’ll take care of you.  
> Orestes: It’s rotten work.  
> Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.”
> 
> adam: i'll take care of you  
> crow: if you are going to take care of me why am i jerking off alone every night  
> adam: read @ 12pm
> 
> no i will not edit the above section to the correct quote bc i think i am hilarious. also i am so wired right now holy shit i got into a fight in about unions today and my veins are coursing with adrenaline. this has nothing to do with the story.
> 
> also ALSO (how many times have i used also????) disclaimer i do NOT hold any ill will towards adam and actually he is the puppet master who has cursed my dick, I just really wanted to explore my own characters feelings towards adam ie: the slow burn because YES i live for slow burn and will be romancing him through to the end BUT the way i characterize crow means that i personally think if it were an option, they would take someone who knows what they want and goes for it over someone who has trouble working through it (yes i know nate is right there but crow has a very specific type and while they get along w nate i am romancing him with a different detective whose personality jives more w nate. crow has mega bastard energy and i would not do that to nate.) again. i love that bitch i will never stop loving that bitch and i DO love the slow burn. i am simply exploring an aspect of my character that i understand would b difficult to do in the books themselves.

The view from the window above their kitchen sink hasn’t changed much over the years. Industrial brick apartments, all nearly identical in shape and color, span far beyond the peeling wooden pane. There are only a few trees visible, most without their leaves. Crow has always been able to find a small, distant sort of peace when gazing through the smudged glass. Especially now, at dusk. The rich, vibrant purple streaked with dying light as the sun fades from view is a sight that never fails to comfort them….never failed before, at least.

Crow passes the rag over the plate clutched tightly in their hand, their eyes unseeing and glazed over as they glare at a single, fixed point on the horizon. The water is cold against their skin as they dip it mindlessly in the basin and draw it back out to continue scrubbing at nothing. Their thoughts are elsewhere, living in memories they’d rather not dwell on but seem unable to control. The thoughts keep coming; the feel of his hand on theirs, the tenderness in his touch juxtaposed with the harshness of his gaze, the frown on his lips as he pulls away _again_.

They have never been so captivated, so enraptured by anyone before in their life, and it _pisses them off_. Crow grits their teeth and tightens their grip on the plate. They shove it with more force than is necessary back into the water. That it splashes onto them and soaks through their baggy sweater hardly registers. _Adam._ They say his name in their head, over and over; his name swirls in the maelstrom of thoughts that commands their focus. _Adam._

_Adam._

_“I…I don’t know if I can do this anymore if you won’t…” Crow’s voice cracks and they want to gut themselves; they want to bleed out on a knife if it means they can take back these words, their uncharacteristic hesitation and uncertainty. Adam-he won’t look away, or he can’t look away. Crow needs him to, to save them the humiliation this burst of raw insecurity has brought out of them. They want to bite down on their tongue, let it catch in their throat and suffocate them. The words spill out regardless. “Whatever this is. Between us.”_

_Adam._

Their strokes intensify; water douses the rim of the sink.

_Adam._

_“Between us?” His fists clench at his side, but Crow doesn’t notice. They don’t notice how his shoulders tense and bunch up, how he takes a step back. They are searching his face, anxious to see any possible sign of reciprocation, anything that tells them they didn’t just toss their heart onto a skewer for nothing. His eyes, green and unyielding, offer them no answers._

_His mouth does._

_“There is…There is nothing between us.”_

Crow grinds their teeth together, a bad habit they had managed to shake before a certain impudent, irascible vampire stormed into their life.

_Adam._

_His arm drapes their shoulders for a moment. They made him laugh. Crow isn’t sure they’ve ever made him genuinely laugh before. It had been some stupid, sarcastic comment, and Adam didn’t grunt, or groan, or berate them for not taking things ‘seriously’. He laughed. The skipping of Crow’s heartbeat is so foreign, so unusual, that in the moment it leaps when they meet his eyes, crinkled by a smile so rare and precious, they think they might be dying. The warmth of the sun on them as he softly opens up and carefully lets down a barrier can’t compete with the blazing heat on their cheeks as Crow realizes they’re in deep shit._

Crow doesn’t cry. They can’t remember the last time they cried, the last time they felt anything strong enough to move them. _It’s dishwater,_ they think, refusing to entertain anything else. _It’s dishwater. I got it on my face because I’m making a fucking mess._

_Adam._

_It seems almost inevitable when, out of nowhere, the gates slam shut. The hole in the dam has been sealed, and he closes them out. The warmth is nowhere to be found now; they are left with the shadows that plunge his expression into darkness and the familiar, icy pain that lances through Crow. They sit for a moment, in silence._

_Crow pulls away first._

_…Fuck._

The sun is gone now. It has been for a while. Crow stands in the body of their apartment; the heart that beats long after the skin has decayed and the muscles rotted and the bones turned to dust. They know, deep down, what they feel isn’t anger. It’s something they don’t care to name, something that’s been growing inside them from the moment grey met green beneath dim station lights. They want to break everything in their apartment. The urge to bring it down, to raze it to the foundations, to go fucking feral and destroy everything burns like a fire in the pit of their stomach, so when they hear a soft voice utter, “Crow?” from somewhere behind them, they don’t hesitate. They turn on their heel and _hurl_ the plate at the voice with all the strength they can muster. It misses their target, a startled face peering out of a mirror, and shatters against the wall next to it. The sound roars in their ears, a cacophony that thunders in the silence.

Falk stares at them, concern wrinkling his brows and shining in his eyes as he takes in Crow’s haggard appearance, the fury that wilts and dies on their face as they realize who exactly they just tried to plaster with dishware. 

“Falk,” they start, clearly as shocked as he is, “Sorry. About that.” A hand darts up, running through the feathered black fringe that falls in front of their eyes. “You, uh, you kind of…came at a bad time.”

The maa-alused leader glances around and, as the glass ripples, steps out from it. He tilts his head, gaze searching for something he doesn’t seem pleased to find, if the way he frowns is any indicator.

“So I see.” He states, somewhat dryly. Crow snorts.

“You know, I usually refrain from attacking houseguests. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to throw shit.”

Falk surreptitiously glances at a lamp on the end table next to him, likely recalling their first meeting in Crow’s apartment. The disgusted noise he makes forces a snicker out of them.

“You always know how to make me feel _so_ special.” Sarcasm laces his every word, but there is no real hostility in them. This type of banter is common for them, even more so after they had started meeting regularly. At first, after their move to the caves, Crow assumed the maa-alused wouldn’t be heard from again. They were proven wrong when, after a long night of filing overdue paperwork, Crow had waltzed into their apartment to find Falk standing in their living room. He appeared a bit stiff and awkward, but Crow managed to get him to admit he’d returned because he was still curious about them and driven by that curiosity to reach out. He had stumbled when pressed harder, though he finally relented under their scrutiny.

_“I may have-though not at all devastatingly-missed...our conversations.”_

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been so unexpected. Their relationship had been…antagonistic at first, but through some effort they’d managed to form a rapport by the end. Saving Sanja had cemented his goodwill. Though, what was most surprising to Crow came when he’d caressed their cheek before leaving for his new life. “I feel a draw to you,” he’d said.

Neither of them brought it up, not once during his frequent visits, and Crow was fine with leaving that in uncharted waters.

Crow doesn’t want to think about that, especially not tonight. They’ve already got enough on their mind. They swallow the lump in their throat and try to bury their thoughts from before somewhere deep, and difficult to escape from.

“Not that you aren’t welcome, Falk, but I am just a little bit not at all in the mood for “entertaining.” Could we do this another week? Maybe next month?”

They try to keep their tone even and-hopefully-not suspicious, but with the way Falk’s eyes narrow, they can tell he’s not going to leave without an explanation. Crow sighs, groans, and then buckles against the sink, burying their face in their hand to avoid his gaze.

“I don’t want to do this right now. We aren’t going to do this right now,” they hiss, hoping he’ll take the hint and _fuck off._ They’re not sure if they want him gone because they want to be alone, or because the thought of anyone seeing them this vulnerable brings bile to their throat. Crow doesn’t move and Falk doesn’t respond, but they sense more than feel his presence at their side. They crack open an eye and peer from between their fingers to see his elegant profile bathed in moonlight, eyes vacant as he stares out the window.

“I am not used to this,” He admits, and turns to look down at Crow, who refuses to meet his gaze, “But if you would like to talk…”

They don’t say anything. They tighten the arm that had dropped to grip their waist and try to collapse in on themselves. For a moment, they consider it; they can’t talk about this with anyone else. Tina is out of the question, which also strikes Verda off the list. The other members of Bravo would likely keep the conversation a secret, but asking them to hide the conversation from Adam…it doesn’t sit right with Crow, and they hate that they care. They know how going behind Adam’s back would make him feel. Why does it matter?

_There is nothing between us._

_So why does it fucking matter?_

Rebecca? Absolutely not. Rebecca is hardly their mother, much less a confidante. She’d more than likely discourage them, and then Adam if she couldn’t get through to Crow (which she wouldn’t). Adam, stalwart and unflinching, would take the out Rebecca gives him in a heartbeat. Crow can’t help the bitterness that seeps in; they can’t imagine he’d disobey her for them.

Falk’s offer is tempting, if only because they need to get some of this weight off their chest. They open their mouth, but Falk speaks up first.

“It’s about that vampiir, isn’t it?,” His lips curl, as though tasting something foul, “The one who looked like he wanted to rip my throat out when I said I wanted to speak with you alone, all those nights ago in my tent.”

Crow’s words die in their mouth. Their tongue feels dry, and all they can manage is a nod. They can’t see Falk’s expression change, but they hear his exhale.

“Has he hurt you?”

_Has he hurt you? There were no blows unprovoked; arguments not sought, and disagreements not initiated by them. There have been insults traded, jabs exchanged. It all seemed so invited. Has he hurt them? A hand pulls away, a smile retracted like it was a mistake to give. Withdrawal and retreat color nearly every instance. They take a step forward; he takes a step back. He always takes a step back._

_Has he hurt you?_

“Not in the way I think you’re asking-” they mutter, finally raising their eyes to meet his gaze. The ring of orange against his solid black eyes is like a sunset; warm and inviting. Soft, caring.

_Orange or green, orange or green, orange or green._

“-but yeah. Yeah, he hurt me. And the worst thing is? I _let_ him. I keep _letting_ him do it.”

They can’t blame dishwater for their damp cheeks, not when they’re facing away from the sink. They attack their face with a balled-up sweater sleeve, knowing and not caring how it will disturb their skin.

Let it redden; let it blister and tear off. Does it matter?

_There is nothing between us._

Falk’s hand hovers over theirs, but he seems unsure. It’s not like Adam; unsure of himself, not wanting to take the step that will send him tumbling over the cliff. Falk is hesitant because, despite touching them that one time, he isn’t sure if they want him to. Crow is a mass of thorns and brambles, an unkempt bush growing wildly and with rabid intent to keep everyone out. They’re not surprised when his hand doesn’t come to rest on theirs. They manage a smirk, despite the drop in their gut that makes them feel like they’re in freefall.

“I don’t bite, Falk.”

He scoffs, but his palm gently lowers onto the top of their hand. His skin is cool, but not uncomfortable. The care with which he caresses their hand is almost unbearable, and Crow averts their eyes. Confusion surges within them, warring with the butterflies in their stomach. They feel like a teenager again and they feel sick.

“You most _certainly_ do. I’ve never heard a more blatant lie in my life.”

He tactfully ignores Crow’s reaction, which they silently thank him for, and his hand lifts from theirs to cup their cheek. Crow, in response, freezes. It isn’t unwelcome-they are a bit astonished at how welcome it is, in fact-but processing this isn’t something they’re used to. Gentle, easy touches…selfless compassion…Crow’s brain is diverging and none of the paths come to the same conclusion. Crow has always understood people; comprehending the twists and turns of the human mind has always benefited them in their career. They’d never had a formal education, never taken a psychology class outside the one they fell asleep in, back when the only difference between then and now was their height, but they got people. Maybe they weren’t good with them in the traditional sense, but Crow _gets_ people. They know this isn’t a normal reaction, they know they’re waiting for the warmth to disappear, for the moment to pass, to find they’re alone in the emptiness that’s always waiting.

_Everyone leaves, so you started leaving first. When did you stop thinking anyone would stay?_

Falk takes in the sudden tautness of their posture and moves to drop his hand. They startle him in turn when they quietly, desperately, murmur, “Don’t.”

Falk doesn’t move his hand. Crow struggles to breath.

“Sorry,” they wince, trying to salvage the situation, “I don’t...” the words linger in the space between them. They don’t know how to finish. They feel like they’ve forgotten how to speak entirely.

“Don’t...?”

“Nothing, it’s not important. Can we-“ Crow coughs, and pushes off the counter. Falk’s hand falls to his side. “Can we move to the couch? To talk? I think I need to sit down.”

(And that's all for now folks! I've got a list of ideas at the end of my google doc for places I want to go with this:

-crow talks about adam -falk asks if they like him y/y -they do -they talk a little about that -they flirt -maybe they fuck??? -crow has to reckon w the fact that they have feelings

Lines to keep in mind before you forget: “You’re not usually so forthcoming.” “Yeah well, I’m not used to experiencing a level of emotion above “mild irritation,” so bear with me.”) but I'm impatient so we're posting unfinished because this has been sitting in my drafts for like 3 months)


End file.
